


Pair of Hearts

by fictive_frolic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, F/M, Fluff, Smut, thicc thor, what is canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 01:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: Thor has a crush. His Crush has a complicated past.
Relationships: Thor (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

“Good Girl,” Thor heard himself growl against the shell of your ear as your body arched into his. Prettily manicured nails leaving red lines over the planes of his abs as he ravaged you, his bulk pinning you, needy and willing to the plush bed.

He’d had you there for hours. The room was saturated in sex and the smell of animal lust as he found satisfaction between your silken thighs again and again. There was no reason to leave. There was no battle to fight. No training to be done. 

It felt like a honeymoon.

Nothing for Thor to do but initiate his pretty lover into the joy of being pleasured by a god. A god who had waited for centuries to love a woman the way he loved you.

A crack of Thunder shook his tower and Thor jolted awake in his chair, the front of his sweats stained with his shame as they had often been since your arrival in New Asgard. He groaned and let his head fall back, taking a deep breath. 

Another exquisite dream courtesy of your graceful visage, he thinks bitterly. Not, he admits that his torment is your fault. You treated him with the same warmth and kindness you treated everyone. Your cheerful good mornings as you tended your garden was no more or less sweet-voiced for him than it was for anyone else. You’d done nothing to invite this damnable lust he felt for you. 

The King hefted his massive frame out of the spindly rocker and slouched into the bedroom, starting the tap in his sink to run warm water so he could clean himself up and change clothes. Dawn was breaking over the horizon and if he hurried, he could catch sight of you and your dog headed towards a run in the woods. He liked watching the serenity on your face. The laugh that would ring out as your furry companion started his antics. It made him happy. It was the simplest joy he could imagine and it gave him hope.

“Thor!” a familiar voice growled from downstairs, “Fuck the girl or learn to jerk off BEFORE you go to sleep. These fucking storms have almost sunk two boats this week!” 

Thor sighed, “Brunhilde,” he said blushing, pulling on clean trousers, “it’s not like I can help it.”

The Valkyrie leaned against the doorway, arms folded, “You could help it. But you’re being a child.”

Thor sighed, “Brunhilde,” he said, “She deserves better than this.” He gestured vaguely to his self, his softer body and shabby tower.

“Thor,” she countered, “She’s a nice girl. Sweet. She bakes a lovely chocolate cake and keeps bees... After the snap, when she showed up here, she was honestly a gift. Dead useful... Talk to her.”

The king shook his head, glancing toward the window where he could just make out the shape of you, headed towards the woods with your faithful hound at your heels. “If you don’t talk to her,” Brunhilde threatened, “I’m going to. And I’m going to make sure that the only sound you hear is her saying my name over and over and over again.”

Thor scowled at her and Brunhilde smirked, “You have three days,” she said. “If you don’t at least talk to her by Saturday I’m going to give her the ride of her life. Then she really will never be interested in you.”

He snorted bitterly, “And if she doesn’t like women?”

The Valkyrie laughed, “Every girl is a little gay... You just gotta know what button to press.”

“I could have you tried for treason you know,” Thor said frowning at the way his belly poked out where his abs had used to be. He hated that he couldn’t seem to go back to his old self. It irritated him that he looked this way. That the body of a romantic hero was hidden under years of neglect. 

Brunhilde smiled a little, “You could... or you could go compliment her garden and make some small talk. I think that would be more productive.” She didn’t say another word, she simply turned and loped back to the docks, satisfied that Thor would speak to you soon if only to keep from having to hear you say someone else’s name as you cried out in bliss. 

___________

The path to your house was tree-lined streets. Whimsical. A district that had been created by Fae expats. It was nice. It suited you. The same way your house could only belong to you. Cozy and sweet. He’d passed by it often, imagining what the inside might be life. What it would be like to bring you here after a long day working. To make love to you in your bed... He imagined you had a quilt and some hand braided rugs. 

Thor paused, watching you climb a ladder, plucking apples from the boughs of the tree with nimble fingers and putting them in a basket at your hip. “Good morning, Lady Y/N,” he said, cheeks coloring as you turned to smile at him.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” you answer, “How can I be of service?”

Kiss me? he thinks. Fucking hell, kiss me before I run mad.

Outloud, he answers, “I was hoping I could speak with you.”

You climb easily down your ladder and pluck a perfectly ripe apple from your basket, holding it out to him. “Of course,” you say, smiling softly, “but only if your majesty will do me the honor of letting me make him a proper breakfast.”

Thor felt something unclench in his chest and he smiled, “I’ve heard that your cooking is legendary,” he says, hoping it’s a compliment.

“I’m not sure about that, your majesty,” you say modestly, “But I hope to live up to your expectations.”

He follows you into your cottage, ducking to avoid hitting his head and takes the seat you offer. While your back is turned, he looks around and admires how comfortable it all looks. It looks like a home, unlike his spartan, Drafty tower. In his once over, he sees a suitcase, open and half-filled... or half unpacked, he isn’t sure. “Are you planning a trip, my lady?” he asks lightly. 

“Yes,” you say, a flicker of something unreadable in your face. You don’t elaborate and Thor is unsure if it’s impolite to press. 

“Have you gotten bored of New Asgard already?” he says, trying to cover his nosing about as a joke.

“No,” you laugh lightly, “It- it’s merely time for me to go home for a time... I’ve been away too long.”

“And what awaits you there? Suitors?” he says, covering his panic. Or trying too.

Big, fathomless eyes turn toward him and, like he felt so often with his mother, he feels you look through him. “No,” you tell him, a little sadly, “Only my sons.”

It’s a moment of pain that flickers in your eyes. Thor knows you’re older than your face. That you’re no stranger to hobnobbing with Royalty and navigating court policies from your comfort with him. “How old are they?” he asked, trying to make conversation, unsure of which way to go.

“If they still lived,” you tell him, taking a deep breath, “They’d have been just over 100 this past summer.”

You set a teacup in front of him gently and pour him a cup of something that smells of roses and rain. Taking the moment to look away and regain your composure.

“My dearest lady,” he said, his rich baritone contrite, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on a private pain.” He clutches your delicate hand in both of his and squeezes softly. He’s no stranger to loss now. To losing something that cannot be replaced. 

“Your majesty-” you start.

“Thor,” he interrupts gently, “please.”

“Thor,” you correct yourself, “I- it- it’s been. It’s fine. A yearly pilgrimage. Nothing more.” You smile a little, “Just to check on the house. And my roses.”

You seem reluctant to say more and for once, Thor listens to his instinct not to press. “I’ll miss seeing you out and about while you are gone,” he says, “Where is your furry companion. Sphinx, I’ve heard you call him.”

“He is, I believe,” you answer smiling, “Begging for scraps on the dock... No one believes I don’t feed him, not really. But he’s a very good actor.”

Thor laughs, picking up his teacup. The delicate China makes him feel clumsy and oafish. The cup too small to fit comfortably in his hands. But, as he takes a sip of the brew you gave him, it doesn’t matter. Sweet, tangy, earthy, flavors that shouldn’t work but they do. It warms in his chest and sends a pleasant frisson of comfort through his body. He feels it swirl comfortably in his belly and tension he didn’t know he carried melted from too taught muscles. “My lady,” he said appreciatively, “If your breakfast is as good as your tea, you’re in a good deal of trouble. I’ll never leave your table.”

You smile a little, cheeks coloring. It had been a long time since you’d permitted a gentleman into your house. Your Charlie, your true love, had been gone a century and more now. Your boys almost as long. Having the King so close, having someone to appreciate a meal you made. Someone to talk to over tea. It was nice. You couldn’t bring yourself to mind too much that he may never leave. 

Tags: @lancsnerd @stevieang @thorfanficwriter @innerpaperexpertcloud @etherealwaifgoddess @amalthea9


	2. Chapter 2

Thor sat at your scrubbed kitchen table, half-convinced that he’d died and entered Valhalla. Everything you put on the table was heavenly. It looked and smelled like an incredible feast and he felt his mouth water. “My lady,” he said, squeezing your hand, “This is all beautiful.”

You smile and return the squeeze gently, “It is the least I could do,” you tell him, “you’ve been so kind to the other Fae ex-pats and myself.”

Thor feels his cheeks color. Truth be told, until recently he hadn’t even realized there were a handful of Fae come to New Asgard. He’d hidden away, wallowing in his grief. It wasn’t until the second snap that he’d sat up to take stock. It made him feel ashamed of himself all over again. Big, soft eyes fixed on him, staring through him. It warmed him somewhat.

There was no judgment. Only kindness. The same kindness you’d shown to everyone. “I hear you’ve all been a great asset,” he said, “New Asgard is fortunate to have such benevolent neighbors.”

You refill his tea and smile a little, “And it’s the least I could do to feed you breakfast, Thor.” 

Thor feels his cheeks color but, when you take a seat and serve your own plate, it feels nice. Having someone to talk to, eating a meal prepared with such care. He finds you easy to talk to. He likes making you laugh. Regaling you with stories. It reminds him of who he used to be. Who he wishes he still was. But seeing you here, reminded him sharply that that wasn’t him anymore. His stories were less about battles he had fought. He spoke of his mother. Of Loki. Of people he had loved and lost. Bittersweet recollections.

“My boys loved snakes,” you tell him with a fond eyeroll. “Used to give their cousin’s fits taking the garter snakes from out of my garden and trying to keep them as pets.”

Thor smiled, “I think we would have gotten along well. I loved snakes as a boy.”

“Most likely,” you say, taking a sip of your tea and curling up on your chair. Thor wants to ask how they died. To ask if their father was still alive. But glancing up over your shoulder stopped the words in his throat. Old photographs. Pictures from a time long before this one. 

You look the same. Long hair piled easily ontop your head. Two half-grown men, one on either side of your chair, their hands laid on your shoulders fondly, despite their solemn eyes. They’re wearing military uniforms and they have your eyes. Other photos of them, younger, sitting at your feet. As babies in your arms. A wedding portrait. Your new husband looking at you with adoration plain on his face. He was tall, stocky, muscular. Thor wonders why he wasn’t in the other photos but glances away quickly, when you notice his interest.

“You have questions,” you say, smiling a little. 

“I do not want to pry,” he said blushing. 

“Or rather, you would like to pry but manners dictate you not,” you answer him, teasing humor sparkling in your eyes.

“Yes,” he admitted, cheeks pink even as he chuckled. 

“Ask,” you say quietly, “I have ways of avoiding uncomfortable questions.”

“Fae cannot lie,” Thor snorted. 

“One can avoid answering a question without lying,” you remind, “I’ve lived among humans for 300 years. I’ve learned a few tricks.”

Thor smiles a little. You’re teasing him he knows but it’s nice. He likes the sparkle in your eyes, but he shakes his head. “I don’t want to pry, my dear,” he said patting your hand. The pictures had shaken that impulse. As badly as he wanted to know of your life before now, it felt private. The pictures were near you, near but tucked away in an alcove. You would know that they were there, but still, no one else would notice if they hadn’t been letting their attention wander. You kept them close to your heart still, even if you didn’t keep them at the forefront of your mind. Their memory was cherished. Kept near the kitchen, the heart of your home. 

You nodded, eyes cat like. Opening and closing slowly, like a cat. For a moment there was absolute silence but for the clinking of Thor’s silverware and the clatter of a cup on a saucer. Only broken by the sound of large clumsy paws and claws on the wooden floors. “Ah-ha,” you laugh, “There you are, no scraps today?” The dog grumbles in response and flops his head in your lap, tongue lolling happily. You pat his head and scrunch his ears. “You’re sure a charmer today,” you tut.

“That is a huge dog,” Thor said, a little in awe now that he can see the creature up close. 

“He’s only mostly dog,” you say, getting up from your chair to get him his actual breakfast. “He’s been my companion a long time, haven’t you Sphinx?” you say ruffling his ears fondly.

“How long?” Thor asked, admiring the sable and silver fur. His massive paws and broad body. 

“Almost as long as I can remember,” you say half shrugging, stroking his back. His shoulder comes up to your hip and his tail in thudding against the cupboard door as he digs into breakfast happily.

“How long is that?” he said laughing.

“I was born in 1761,” you tell him, “My mother was a French ladies maid who wandered away during a hunting trip. She’d been a changeling child the Fey were all too happy to have back.”

He nods, “And your father?”

You smile, “An enchanter,” you answer, “a Duke.”

“Ah,” Thor chuckled, “So you really are a Lady. I thought I recognized the cadence… You all always speak so well.”

“Time has tempered it just a little,” you say smiling, resuming your seat. 

“Still,” Thor said, “I’ve missed that.” He really had. The soft clear tones. The unreadable expressions. The gentle hands. A lady from a court always had an indefinable grace. He knew it took hours of cultivation. Lessons in deportment and manners. It was cultivated, yes, but it felt like home. Bittersweet now, but familiar. It reminded him of what he wanted for New Asgard. A new and brighter path.

“Have you lived outside of Faerie long?” he asked.

You nod, smiling a little, getting a faraway look on your face, “Yes,” you answer, “at least in human terms.”

There is silence again as Sphinx comes to investigate the newcomer to his house. Thor allows his inspection and strokes his ears before glancing at the clock. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay and simply bask in the comfort of your presence. 

So achingly familiar. Soft. Worlds away from the mud and blood of battles he used to crave. 

“You’re busy, I’m sure,” you tell him smiling.

“Very,” he admits, “But I find I don’t want to leave yet.”

You laugh softly, “Duty calls through. It is not a forgiving mistress.”

“Indeed not,” he said, getting to his feet, “I- thank you for letting me impose upon you this morning.” He takes your hand when you stand up and kisses it gently.

“It was my pleasure,” you answer, the word pleasure on your lips making him shiver internally.

“Perhaps… Perhaps you would do me the honor of accompanying me to the harvest festival?” he cheeks color and he looks down at his hands.

“I’d be delighted,” you tell him, tilting his chin up gently, “Truly.” You had a soft spot for big men with gentle hearts. Always so shy about feelings. So cautious. 

“Then I’ll come to escort you,” he said beaming, squeezing the hands he held.

“And I’ll be waiting,” you murmur demurely.


End file.
